Thunder Lullaby
by SwampTreader
Summary: 3 year-old Dean is tired and scared of the storm.


It was hot afternoon, the sun was blazing and even with all the windows open it was still stifling. But even the heat could not deter little 3 year-old Dean Winchester from playing hard. Mary sat in a white wicker chair by an open window, fanning herself with a magazine as she watched her son playing with a fortress of blocks on the wooden floor of the front room. He was mumbling to himself as he pushed his army men around here and there, making shooting noises, then he would shout suddenly and run around the room yelling and commanding his little plastic army to "call for back up" or "Retreat! Retreat!" She chuckled to herself and glanced out the window. There was a storm coming in, hopefully it would cool the air so it was actually bearable to breathe. John was still at work, a construction job, probably road repairs. She worried about him being out in the hot sun all say, she hoped he was drinking enough water…

Thunder rumbled, much closer than she had expected. Dean's chubby little hands stilled on two of his army men. Mary glanced out the window again, the sun was now blocked out by dark clouds. She could smell rain on the cool breeze that skirted across her cheeks. Thunder growled again above the house and Dean whimpered a little. She smiled and rose from the chair, scooping up her son in her arms. He protested, squirming in her arms, trying to get back down so he could play. "Mommy," he whined.

"Do you want something to eat, sweetheart?" Mary asked, undeterred by his pouting.

"No, I wanna plaaay," he insisted. She carried him into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"How about some juice? Hmm?" She asked.

"No, I not thirsty! I wanna play!" He demanded.

"Someone's cranky," she smiled giving him a much fought-off kiss.

"Am not!" He cried, his eyebrows furrowing angrily.

"I think my brave army commander needs a nap," Mary teased, tapping his button nose with her index finger.

"NO! I WANNA-" Dean's protest was cut off with a loud clap of thunder. He cried out in surprise, tears springing to his green eyes as he buried his nose in his mother's shirt.

"It's alright, it's just thunder," Mary comforted.

"I know that," he said, his voice muffled by her shirt.

Mary smiled and rolled her eyes. Dean was becoming more and more like John every day. She rocked him a little in her arms as she went around the house closing the windows that would allow rain to get in when the storm started. She left the windows up that opened onto the porch because the rain would be blocked by the awning. Dean tried to be brave and act as though the thunder didn't scare him but when it rumbled too loudly he would close his eyes and hide his nose in mommy's neck. Mary hummed quietly as she closed the windows upstairs and then headed back down to the first floor. She hoped she could put Dean down for a nap in the front room since the breeze would come through the windows and hopefully she could watch the storm roll through. Storm-watching was one of her favorite things to do, she loved how powerful and wild thunderstorms were and yet they were also so peaceful. Dean was complaining about something but she paid no mind to him, rocking him and walking around the room, waiting for her son to fall asleep and for the rain to start.

Soon enough Dean was dozing off, nuzzling his nose against her chest, cuddling closer. The rain started and quickly turned into a downpour. Lightening flashed and was followed but a clap of thunder so loud the windows shook in their frames. Dean jolted awake in her arms and clung closer to her. "Shhh, baby, it's ok, the thunder can't hurt you." She rocked him back and forth slowly and started singing."Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more." Maybe Mary's lullabies weren't exactly what the other mothers in the neighborhood would call "appropriate" but she liked singing them and Dean always fell right to sleep when she did. So she sang to him humming some parts, eventually stopping her pacing to stare out the window at the storm.

Thunder rolled and Dean looked up at her with sleepy green eyes. "Mommy, I don't like the thunder," he yawned. She kissed his forehead.

"Don't be scared of it sweetheart, it's just the angels moving their furniture in Heaven," she smiled.


End file.
